Pretty Eyes
by PhantomPotterGirl
Summary: But before she could tear her gaze away and berate herself again for falling succumb to his charms—his blue eyes caught hers and they found themselves trapped—both of them unable to look away. Gwen/Arthur


A/N: Because I love Merlin and I love Arwen with all my shipper heart. I love them almost as much as I love James/Lily. xD

Disclaimer: don't own :( :'(

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**"Pretty Eyes"**

~_Don't judge a book by its cover._

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Out of everything that has happened for the past few months, this was the most awkward situation Gwen had situated herself in.

It was the Prince.

Out of recent events, he was on the verge of screaming with annoyance. Only at the given moment had he realized that people treated him different. Not the kind of different that would be called as '_the-hate-I-have-for-you-burns-like-a-thousand-passionate-suns_' different. He was treated different which could only be classified as '_sucking up'_.

His status, as most can say, was the reason for Arthur's treatment. No one dared to properly take him on in a fight—for who wanted to face Uther's anger if something went wrong and the Prince ended up less than upright and one hair out of place? No, no man was dumb enough to aim for the kill; but neither as practice.

So because of this _brand new_ information, Arthur was determined to be treated properly, just like everybody else. He demanded fairness and equality, but he was one of the most recognized faces in all of Camelot. Where would he end up going to? Who would be daring enough to treat the Prince of Camelot as a normal villager?

_Merlin. _

But Merlin was his manservant, and one of the many servants who inhabited the castle itself. What would he do then? And of course _Merlin_ lived in the castle and there _was _no point in seeking his help.

But there was someone else that Merlin knew. A quite close of friend of his who _didn't _live in the castle…

_Gwen. _

For who was to say no to the Prince of Camelot, than a servant to worked there, more or less the personal servant of the King's Ward?

So Gwen found herself stuck—with the extremely handsome and arrogant Prince Arthur in her small and underappreciated home. Could she blame herself for feeling as if an intruder has stormed into her home? Could she blame herself for feeling a little out of place in front of him? Of course not—she was merely a servant; harboring the Prince of Camelot in her own home where she was certain, if the King ever found out—she would certainly be on Uther's death list.

No feelings of distress here.

Guinevere pushed aside her hair and shook herself out of her thoughts. She knew that if she kept on thinking, her panic would clearly overtake her rationalism and drive her crazy. She arrived at the marketplace, it was full that day, and she found herself wishing once more that she needn't have to buy more food on that Thursday; for those were the days where most of the village had been relieved of their duties, and flooded the marketplace to buy as much food as they could before dark. But considering the fact that she had an extra mouth to feed and that he was royalty—well, no one had ever disobeyed the Prince before, and Guinevere was certainly determined to not be the first.

Looking around the murky stalls, she settled for buying a few pieces of bread and a nice solid portion of lamb, enough for two. She thanked the stall-keeper and made her way back to her thatched home, feeling dread overcome her at the thought of the Prince waiting there for her to return. The last time anyone ever waited for to return home was her father—and she didn't want to relive past memories all too quickly after his passing. Especially since the _Prince_ was in her home—of all people.

When she was inside, she was glad with relief to see the Prince nowhere in sight. He must be out with Merlin, preparing for the tournament, Guinevere thought happily. She put her purchases on the table and took off her cloak, glad to be rid of the thing. It was far too hot outside to be wearing any extra layers. She rubbed the back of her neck and thought of how tiresome work would be the next morning with sore shoulders. But before she could let herself fall down onto her bed and fall asleep, the door creaked open and she quickly turned around, startled.

It was Arthur.

_Damn him_, Guinevere shifted uncomfortably at his presence, the curse of her thoughts ringing through her ears. She let herself fall into a polite pose, one she specially reserved for royalty. Back arched and fingers linked delicately in front of her; she felt the sore pain throb deep into her shoulders. Her stomach flourished at the sight of him—and she berated herself harshly. He was a Prince—and she was a servant. There was nothing more to be said.

"Guinevere." He sounded surprised, "I thought you were out."

"I had just gotten back." She answered far too politely then she felt.

His eyes widened a little and his mouth formed a little 'o', giving an impression of a four-year-old child.

Dear God, he was going to be the death of her if he kept doing little things like that. Suddenly, the two felt a sense of awkwardness dance around the air, for neither had anything to say. It wasn't every day the Prince and the Ward's personal servant would engage in any kind of conversation, save for the polite ask of water or assistance.

"I was…just about to get dinner started." Guinevere burst out, unable to bear the silence any longer.

"Oh, yes. Of course." He stuttered slightly, glad to have something to do, "allow me to uh, excuse myself."

Guinevere smiled politely and started to walk casually to the kitchen table—to make an appearance that she was about to start the cooking. But in reality, she was more than willing to put off her work for a few hours—only until her shoulders would start to feel better. He might be the Prince, but she was still a human being; and her shoulders were killing her. She can't work while in pain. Speaking of shoulders, herd had started to throb even worse as she walked; and in her haste to keep a false calm pretense, she managed trip over the leg of her table and knock over the contents of the basket of her purchases and spill it onto the floor.

"Oh no…" she moaned with grief looking upon the scattered bits below.

She bent down in embarrassment, trying to quickly gather the food and brush _some _dignity that she had left.

To her surprise, she wasn't the only one.

The gathering the food part—not the dignity one.

Arthur, himself, was on the floor and gathering the food before it spoiled. She, unable to resist the temptation of curiosity, looked up at him. But before she could tear her gaze away and berate herself _again _for falling succumb to his charms—his blue eyes caught hers and they found themselves trapped—both of them unable to look away. Any thought that passed through Guinevere's head contained only of Arthur's really, _really _nice eyes.

His eyes were beautiful. That was all she could think over and over: his eyes. She was able to describe them perfectly; a crystal shade of blue they were, with small specks of dark blue that outlined his pupils, and a dark ring of crystal-like shades which they reminded Gwen of clear water of a lake on a beautiful summer's day. His eyes were swimming with emotion—and she couldn't help herself to wonder what he was feeling, what he was thinking? What went on in that _confusing _head of his?

But alas, their moment was broken.

By none other than their very own: the famous, bumbling _Merlin_.

"Arthur! Do you want your armour polished or shined? They're apparently two different things to the Royal Polisher—and he says that the polisher would be a complete waste of time which doesn't make sense because why would he consider it an option if it was useless; but he did say that it lasts for a longer time than the shine option, so I believe that would be the better—oh, uh, um—am I…interrupting something?"

Both turned their heads away, embarrassed.

Arthur cleared his throat loudly and shot up from the floor, "No, of course not…what, what did you say again?"

Guinevere became suddenly interested in the artwork of her basket as she put her bread and lamb inside.

Merlin looked back and forth between the two suspiciously. But shed no further light on the subject for he was certain if he did raise awareness of the moment, he would be greeted with denial (courtesy of Arthur), anger (courtesy of Arthur _throwing _something at him) or even more embarrassment (courtesy of Arthur making fun of him at training in the morning). He realized he should leave…_whatever _that was happening between the two to grow _before _he could meddle. Because how much fun would it be to see Arthur finally tongue-tied in front of a girl—especially someone as amazing as Guinevere?

Gwen slowly picked herself off of the floor, easily blocking the ignorant chatter of Merlin's polishing problems and tried to find _something _to do in the uncomfortable situation. She planted the basket further away from the edge of her counter and stared blankly at it, unable to think of what to do. Until finally, she was broken out of her thoughts when Merlin called out to her and said that him and Arthur were going to the Royal Polisher's and then later in the afternoon to practice for the tournament.

Arthur smiled at her and added, "I'll be back late."

She politely returned the smile until the door shut behind him, in which she collapsed quite roughly on [her] bed, finally. She stretched and yawned as freely as she wished, glad to have the freedom and bliss of her own bed; before curling up into a ball and resting her eyes to sleep. Dinner could wait. Arthur could wait. But before she could pass away in the world of unconsciousness, one single fleeting thought passed through her head: _Arthur has really nice eyes._

Gwen opened her eyes with a scowl.

_Damn him_.

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A/N: Hopefully that was decent enough to pass for any Merlin-fanatics' expectations...Please review!

_PhantomPotterGirl_


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